


Chemicals

by MaybeSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 19:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeSherlock/pseuds/MaybeSherlock
Summary: John comes upon Sherlock while he is attempting to work out certain chemical responses he has been having. Just a short fun drabble between John and Sherlock centered around Molly Hooper and her growing influence on Sherlock.





	Chemicals

John’s suspicions were first aroused early one morning in mid February. Sherlock, for the first time in a decade was up at an actual breakfast time. Strange and rare as it was, based on his previous experiences with Sherlock, the odd behavior was not unexpected from time to time. He was in fact, up minutes after John at 6:00am. After using the toilet and flipping on the kitchen light switch, John opened the cabinet to retrieve a mug for his morning tea. With the same precise timing of the cabinet door closing, Sherlock stated, “Morning, John.” John spazzemed with the shock of being abruptly presented with the Fight or Flight response. 

“Christ, Sherlock!” John shouted with irritation at he man in the doorway, casually doing up the sash of his house robe. “What the hell are you doing up at this hour?” 

“Simply stated for those among us this morning who are delayed in their process of logical thinking, my brain was finished with its REM cycle and roused my body to wake.” Sherlock replied.

“Arse,” John mumbled under his breath. Sherlock gave the smallest of grins as he continued to walk past John and into the living room. 

Now that John’s normal train of thought had derailed with the massive interruption that was Sherlock Holmes, he attempted to gather focus. Slowly his thoughts began to rally purpose, “Why was Sherlock up this early anyway? Last night was the first night he’d spent at Baker Street in four days. Usually when he has gone for a few nights, he does nothing but sleep for the next twenty hours,” John thought to himself. As John followed this question further he found that within the past six weeks Sherlock had been gone from Baker Street almost more than he was home. Alarm bells began to ring in John’s head, “Son of a bitch,” John swore aloud. 

“Sherlock,” John said as he rounded into the living room, “Where the hell have you been? For the last month, where have you been going, because if you’ve started using again, so help me Go…” Sherlock cut off John with the most dramatic eye roll and exclamation of exhaustion.

“Uhhhggghh! John, do use your eyes.” Sherlock turned around, yesterday’s newspaper and held out in one hand and his friend’s skull out in the other. “Go on, make some deductions,” Sherlock said without malice or provocation, for he knew that John took this topic quite seriously. 

John paused and glared at Sherlock but then he began to observe. The pallor of Sherlock’s skin was pale, the normal pale: it looked hydrated, smooth, and without blemishes or track marks. His hair was clean and healthy, not weighed down by grease and the stench of stale cigarettes and dirty people. In fact, it appeared as if he’d just had a haircut because John saw that it was shorter in the back than normal—must have a new barber. Internally, John smiled at how his deduction skills had developed.

“Satisfied, Doctor?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, fine…but where have you been?” John asked with a more pleasant tone.

“Ah, but I could be asking you the same, John.” Retorted Sherlock, slyly avoiding the question. 

With raised eyebrows John said, “At my job, Sherlock! Bills, life expenses.”

“Boring,” replied Sherlock in a monotone. And with that, he turned around a continued his previous task. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

For the days that followed, Sherlock began to keep a more regular schedule, at least on the days John saw Sherlock. Despite the fact that spring was just around the corner, the surgery was busier than ever with the flu and cold. Therefore, what Sherlock had said was true: John had been working long hours and spent as little time at Baker Street as Sherlock. 

One particular case in April, however did warrant both of their attentions. Several body parts had been discovered in a high ranking official’s house. They appeared to be melted, however for the life of them, they could not figure out how someone’s flesh could be melted in this particular way. Ever the chemist, Sherlock insisted that it was some new chemical process and although John agreed, they could not figure out what the compound was that would cause such a reaction. 

Sherlock had experiments running day and night, not only all over their kitchen and living room, Molly’s lab was covered in them. It was eleven o’clock in the evening when John collapsed into a chair by the kitchen table. He rubbed his face with hands covered in chemical burns and sighed with exhaustion. Sherlock looked up from the beaker he was filling and saw how spent John was. He removed his goggles and turned off the bunsen burner he had lit a second before. In that moment he realized the hour and the marathon science experiment they had been running the last few days. Sherlock too began to feel fatigue creep into his brain and body. He cleared a small space on the table, turned to the tea cabinet and said, “Tea, Molly?”

John stopped rubbing his face and shot Sherlock a strange and confused look. Not hearing a replay, Sherlock turned and said, “Well?” as if nothing was wrong. 

“Sherlock, you just called me 'Molly'…” John said and left the sentence hanging.

Sherlock froze, and knew John was right. “No, you clearly are over-tired. You are becoming delusional. Forget I offered, just got bed John.” Sherlock said with too much haste. 

John raised an eyebrow and continued to watch Sherlock, despite the fact he had abruptly turned around and continued to make tea. 

“Sherlock, you never offer to make tea,” John began. Simultaneously, John’s brain began to whirl; Sherlock had to have been staying with someone when he is gone all those nights…And on the nights he is home he has been considerably more civil—no new bullet holes in the wall, dirty tea cups have been washed and placed on the drying rack, even his music has become more melodic and with fewer minor key signatures. Now this, offering to make tea??

And the kicker, calling him "Molly."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

"I know it is chemical,” Sherlock stated to the dark empty room as he held aloft his glass of scotch looking through the golden swirl to the glow of the streetlight shining through the shear curtains. “I know the formula for this liquid, the compound for the glass it is in, and even the elements used make the sweet addictive burn I miss so much!” Sherlock said with growing frustration. 

“Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin!” Sherlock recited with a crescendo to the void room, only to hesitate and drop his tone in surrender. “These, the chemical bastards forming emotions in me and causing me to betray my very nature!” Sherlock spoke in a whisper to the glass he held up against the light. 

He was, of course alluding to the growing number of times he caught himself acting out of character in the particular direction of one Dr. Molly Hooper: When he secretly took a photo of her holding a slide steady under the microscope—a photo he refers back to several times a day. When he stopped in at a cafe, for the second time that week so he could bring her her favorite spiced drink—a cinnamon chi latte. And most recently when he pulled her in for an embrace, not just to thank her for the extra thumbs she had provided him for his ongoing experiment, but to feel the pressure of her body against his and the comfort of her arms behind his back. 

He knew he was using Molly's flat more often that was truly called for, but he couldn't help himself from making excuses to use it. And now, he made the mistake of calling John, "Molly". He was now suddenly and painfully aware of what had been going on; she was becoming his new addiction. The devilish trio of chemicals slowly manipulating his heart...

Sherlock drained the glass and turned to the kitchen to refill the now empty vessel. 

“John!” Sherlock startled as he looked up from the glass and nearly fell when he saw the shadowed form of John Watson. "How long have you been standing there!?"

“…Sherlock…” John said with a quizzical inclination in his voice. 

“Mate, you just let me sneak into our flat at ten o'clock at night,” John said with an impish grin. “Mrs. Hudson and I even had a chat on the landing. You were so distracted, you seriously didn’t even hear us?”

Sherlock thought quickly and said, “Mind palace, John. I was in my mind palace.”

“Sherlock,” John pursued as Sherlock walked swiftly by John to the counter containing the decanter. “Never have I heard you speak while in your mind palace. And, you told me once that you purposely constructed your mind palace with ‘auditory capability,’ that is why you always tell us to shut it!” John began his case.

“Yes, brilliant John,” Sherlock said with feigned awe. “Yet again your observation skills are grossly misguided.” Sherlock turned and walked swiftly by John with his glass refreshed, utilizing the darkness of the room to shade a proud smirk on his face at how John’s skills truly had improved. 

“I know what’s got you, Sherlock,” John said with a softer tone as he filled his own glass and followed Sherlock into the sitting room. 

“You are not yourself lately,” John said as he pointed a finger and inclined his glass to Sherlock’s back. “I mean, look at you! So distracted, I could have snuck an elephant in the flat with me just now and you wouldn’t have had a clue,” John continued. “I’d even chance to reason this is your third or fourth drink given the subject of your distraction.”

John sat down in his chair and made himself comfortable. Sherlock turned around, making nothing of himself visible to John but his blackened silhouette. Here again, he smirked at John’s improving ability to observe. 

Leisurely taking a sip of his drink, John looked at Sherlock over the edge of his glass and said, “So, want to talk a bit about this 'chemical emotion' your are experiencing? Or shall we go straight to the cause of these--what did you call them?” he added with a grin, "'chemical bastards?' And that would be Molly Hooper, would it not?"


End file.
